Claimed: The Pregnant Heiress

He consumed his first cup of coffee while making some halfway decent scrambled eggs, even if they were a tad rubbery, and toast that wasn’t too badly burnt. After dumping everything onto two plates and placing them on the breakfast table, he poured a second cup of coffee for himself and a first one for Emma. Based on what she’d ordered after their one dinner together, she liked it heavy on the milk and light on the sugar. Considering he spent his day putting together million-dollar deals and handling tens of millions worth of investments, he was inordinately pleased with himself over throwing together such a simple breakfast. Now he just needed someone to share it with him.

“Emma?”

He entered the bedroom, his brows snapping together when he saw that she still occupied the bathroom. No sound of running water. No feminine splashing or fussing. Just a nerve-wracking silence. Hell. She’d been off-color last night. Was she sick? He tapped on the door.

“Sweetheart? Are you all right?”

“Go away,” she moaned.

“The hell I will. Fair warning, I’m coming in.”

“No, don’t—”

“Too late. I’m in.”

To his concern, he found Emma curled up on the tile floor, her face buried in the knees she’d drawn to her chest. He’d have found it amusing that she wore his dress shirt from the night before if she didn’t look so utterly wretched. He crouched down beside her and smoothed her damp hair away from her brow. Her complexion was as snowy white as his shirt, with just the merest hint of green for contrast. Not a good color combination on her.

“I’m sorry, Emma,” he said sympathetically. “I didn’t realize you were unwell. What can I do to help?”

“Other than go away?”

He smiled. “Sorry, sweetheart, I’m not made like that. What’s option number two?”

“Hold my head while I get sick again?”

He winced. “Stomach virus? Food poisoning?”

“That would be nice,” she replied in a muffled voice.

Okay, that didn’t make the least bit of sense. “Why would a stomach virus or food poisoning be nice?” he asked cautiously.

She lifted her head, her eyes dark and bleak. “Think it through, Chase. You’ll get there.”

Maybe if he’d downed that second cup of coffee it would all make perfect sense to him. After all, his analytical skills were pretty damn impressive. But for some reason they seemed to be on the fritz this morning. He shook his head, indicating his bewilderment. “I’m obviously missing something here. Care to fill me in so we can both be on the same page?”

She sighed. “Take one woman. Add a tablespoon of gee-she’s-sick. Toss in a cup of second-missed-period.” She made a small stirring motion with her finger. “Mix with hey-it’s-morning. And guess what you get?”

No. Oh, hell no. “You’re pregnant?” He meant to ask the question calmly, with the same stony cool attitude with which he’d learned to handle all of life’s crises. Unfortunately, somewhere between “you’re” and “pregnant” his voice had risen to a roar.

She flinched. “I don’t know for certain. But I’d say all the signs are there.”

“You said …” He shot a hand through his hair, struggling to think straight. What the devil had she said? “You said second missed period. As in January, minus two equals November. We were together in November. We were together, together in November.”

“You know something, Larson?” she asked, an edge in her voice. “You really are a genius when it comes to numbers and statistical analysis.”

“Can the sarcasm, Worth. I’m not the one on the floor puking my guts out. As I recall we used protection each time we made love that night.” He never, ever made love without precautions, since he’d never risk the possibility of history repeating itself.

“Yeah, that bothered me at first, too.” To his horror tears filled her eyes. Huge, gut-wrenching, I-can’t-believe-this-is-happening tears. “It was the shower that did us in.”

“The shower,” he repeated stupidly.

“Exactly. The shower. It came off, remember?”

He winced. That’s right. It had. “You think the baby’s mine?”

“No,” she shot back, insulted. “The baby’s mine. You were simply involved in the conception.”

He bit off a sharp retort. Sniping wouldn’t get them anywhere fast. First things first. “Have you seen a doctor? Had a pregnancy test?”

She closed her eyes and shook her head. “I’ve been deluding myself the past few weeks that I was simply late.”

“Two months late?”

“It happens,” she retorted defensively. “Or so I’ve heard. But now …”

“Now you’re not so sure.”

She buried her face in her knees again. “No.”

He struggled to think logically, to tackle the problem—assuming a baby could be considered a problem—one step at a time. “First, is there anything I can do to help with the sickness?”

“Tea and crackers would be nice.”

“I have the tea, but not the crackers. But since I’m going to run out to a pharmacy and pick up a pregnancy test, I can snag some crackers at the same time. I assume you want plain versus fancy? Crackers, that is.”

She shuddered. “Very plain.”

“Emma?” He waited until she lifted her head and looked at him. “One way or another we’ll figure this out. First on the list is to find out whether or not you’re pregnant.”

A hint of amusement brought some much-needed color into her face. “There’s a list already?”

He leaned in and kissed her forehead. “Honey, there’s always a list.”

Chase soon discovered the difficulty wasn’t finding a pregnancy test. It was choosing among the dozen options that filled the shelves. Finally, he simplified matters and scooped up one of each before heading for the checkout counter. The cashier gave him an odd look.

“That hopeful or that afraid?”

He could hear Brooklyn in her voice, a familiar whiff of home. Chase handed over his card and gave her a steely look that had successfully cowed some of the toughest businessmen New York had to offer.

“Charge it,” he told her.

For some reason The Look didn’t work with Brooklyn. “I’m just saying.”

Fortunately, the crackers and the basketful of basic food groups he decided he should add to his ever growing list proved far less stressful to purchase at the grocery store. This cashier, clearly a native Californian, limited himself to a polite “Have a nice day.” And though he didn’t actually say “dude,” it was implicit in his voice. Considering that he’d been born and raised here in Vista del Mar, before going to live in New York with his father at the tender age of ten, he had feet planted on both coasts. Memories cascaded through him of a life he’d given up all those years before. Carefree years. Lean years. Years filled with laughter and a mother who adored him. He shoved the bittersweet images aside, refusing to dwell on the what-ifs if he’d made a different choice and forced himself to maintain his focus on the job at hand.

Chase returned to the condo, collecting a speeding ticket along the way. Officer Garcia was also excruciatingly polite and Chase made an executive decision to avoid choosing a red Ferrari for his next visit. You just couldn’t go wrong with basic black. He found Emma where he’d left her and joined her on the floor, upending the bag from the pharmacy.

Emma stared at the dozen boxes. “I appreciate your enthusiasm, but I don’t have this much pee.”

“I didn’t mean for you to use all of them.” Though if the first result proved positive … or negative … Chase frowned. Proved baby-on-board, he’d insist she take another one. “I figured you could choose the easiest to use.”

“I think they’re all pretty much the same. But maybe some are easier to read than others.”

“Right. Start with those.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “Start?” When he didn’t say anything, she sighed and pointed to the door. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather do this in private.”

He stood and stared down at her. She looked so small and delicate, curled up on the floor. “You’ll call me as soon as you know anything?”

“Of course.”

“And, Emma …?”

She spared him a swift glance, but didn’t speak.

“If the baby’s mine, I’ll do the right thing,” he informed her. “For both you and the child.”

And with that, he left.

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